


The Occasional Affection

by ashilrak



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 16:18:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10643544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashilrak/pseuds/ashilrak
Summary: "There had been footsteps, the heels of Jefferson’s shoes sharp against the hardwood floor. “I’ve heard you called whoreson by more than one person, I guess you take after your mother.”He had bit his lip hard enough to draw blood to stop the words from bubbling out of his chest, his cheeks heating with shame, his gut clenching with desire."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maerzkindt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maerzkindt/gifts).



> This is not a portrayal of a healthy relationship - don't read it as such.

He hadn’t set out to find this - hadn’t wanted it.

Alexander Hamilton had walked into the room expecting to lose a part of himself. He had know that barbed insults would be thrown over small sips of wine and that he’d be expected to grit his teeth and smile through it as if nothing had been said in the first place.

The heated looks thrown his way were something he had always known to look for. He’d catch a man looking, meet their eyes, and grin. Jefferson and Madison had always been far from subtle, and Burr and him had always shared a sort of tension.

There would have been surprise if he had found the only way to get what he wanted was on his knees. He had been prepared for it. 

His expectations had been met. Dinner was a formal affair, three men looking down their nose at him while he was itching for some sort of confrontation, a resolution. 

Their table had been cleared, and Jefferson had extended a hand to help him up. Alexander’s mind had been fraught with confusion, but he knew to play along. A sense of satisfaction had filled him when another hand went to his shoulder and forced him to bend over the table - the sharp edge digging into his hips and stomach. Alexander had bit his lip to hide the smirk that threatened to cross his face - that had been a game he could play, after all. He clasped his hands behind his back, shifted his weight to his toes, and arched his back as much as he was able. The hand that had pushed him down had followed the line of his body in a gentle motion. 

There had been footsteps, the heels of Jefferson’s shoes sharp against the hardwood floor. “I’ve heard you called whoreson by more than one person, I guess you take after your mother.”

He had bit his lip hard enough to draw blood to stop the words from bubbling out of his chest, his cheeks heating with shame, his gut clenching with desire.

Alexander had always known there was something wrong with him, but when Jefferson’s cane came down on the back of his thighs, he let out a short yelp and prayed to the heavens above and thanked whoever made it feel so right.

The night had continued in that vain, and in that room he was stripped down and forced to kneel, repeating each of their names like a plea, voice becoming more and more wrecked the more they used him.

He had left with a limp in his step, blossoming bruises, a wounded ego, his debt plan in hand, and a thirst for more.

Alexander had known that it wouldn’t be forgotten. Had steeled himself to deal with the smirks and taunting touches, had even expected the private encounters - a thigh slotted between his own and words painting delicious images whispered into his ear in dark corners of hallways.

He had not expected the occasional affection.

Long hours spent working into the night were nothing knew. Alexander had to work twice as hard and twice as long to get where he was, but he knew and accepted it. His hand was aching from how tight he was holding his pen, the words blurring in the dim candlelight as his mind struggled to come up with the perfect phrasing. 

There was a quiet knock at the door, and Alexander looked up expecting to find anyone but James Madison holding a tray with a plate and a tin cup. “Hamilton, you’re working late.”

He set the quill down, confused. “Yes.”

“I brought you something.” Madison walked into the room, moved a pile of papers over, and set the tray down. “You’ve forgotten to eat.”

Alexander opened his mouth and closed it, instead choosing to nod. “Thank you.”

Madison looked at him for a moment, not moving. Madison took some careful steps forward and placed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Do remember to get some rest.”

He watched as Madison left as quick as he had come and sat alone with his thoughts, staring at the tray of food. It wasn’t much, leftovers from Madison’s own meal, most likely. Alexander grabbed the piece of bread and bit off a piece, still thinking as he chewed. He pressed a finger against his thigh, pushing hard into the tender flesh of the bruise Madison had bit into his skin just the night before. 

This was something different and new. Shared, softer glances and kind smiles as they passed each other on the street during the day, brushing fingers and exchanging the expected pleasantries and insults.

At night, Alexander would slip into bed, body aching with the memory of rough hands from previous activities.

It was a pattern, something comfortable the four of them could relax into a rely on. The stability that Alexander had always sought after and shied away from. Their weekly dinners were nothing more than a ruse, and during the week Alexander could look forward to more private encounters.

They were all different - hurt differently, loved differently.

Madison was small, didn’t have strength to overpower him the same way Jefferson could. Madison used words. Beady eyes would stare deep into Alexander’s soul and rip him apart and make him feel needed and loved all in one breath that would leave him kneeling with sobs racking out his chest. Madison’s hands were always soft and gentle, teeth physically marking him to match pierce of the words. 

James would bring him meals during the week, their private talks for business and personal updates and soft kisses against Alexander’s cheek and neck. The first time Alexander had kissed James’ lips, soft and chaste, James had become frozen, eyes wide in surprise. James had lifted a hand to his lips and turned on his heel. An hour later James had returned with a flower which was pinned to Alexander’s jacket with care.

Jefferson was the one who pushed him against walls, bent him over and used him until Alexander couldn’t do anything but choke around his moans and sobs. Jefferson would put his hands over his head, untie his cravat, and bite along his neck, edges of the bruises always just visible when he was fully dressed. Jefferson was the one who didn’t practice the same level of care, seemed to want to claim Alexander for the world to know.

Thomas followed James when it came the gentler side of things. A brush of a hand against his neck and a quick compliment on occasion. Finer dishes being provided on the regular, brought to him by James were Thomas’ chosen display.

James Madison and Thomas Jefferson knew how to use Alexander, how to break him and care for his basic needs. Aaron Burr, however, could play him and manipulate him like no one else could. Hours upon hours of working together lead to a special familiarity that Burr had no problem taking care of. Burr took his time, the loving only violent and tortuous in the way Alexander was never allowed to act or reach his peak until Burr decided it was time. Aaron wasn’t one for quick encounters, scheduled periods of time to rub the tension out of every single one of Alexander’s abused and sore muscles.

Relaxation had never come naturally to Alexander, but Burr forced him to accept it into his life.

They still took joy in watching him fall apart, breaking him down until he was sobbing and begging for any sort of mercy - that had been expected. The long, lazy stretched afterward where they would tangle their limbs together in the sheets, close their eyes and listen to each other’s heartbeats was not something Alexander had known he had wanted, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!
> 
> Please feel free to come pester me at my [tumblr](http://ashilrak.tumblr.com/)! :^))
> 
> <3 <3 <3 <3 <3


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